“We have new products available today!” A bearded, fat man in a suit shouted with a smile. “Most of all, they are fresh from the fields!”

  “Hell yeah!”

  “I’ve been saving up for this!”

  “Fucking finally!”

  A low ‘tch’ came from Marcus as Stella gasped slightly beside him.

  They were now at a slave auction, the same one that Marcus had identified earlier while talking to Stella.

  So he wanted to see it for himself.

  The first slave to come forward was a young beastkin. She was a feline, her ears drooping downwards. She was wearing thin, dirty clothes that barely covered her. She was clearly terrified, exposed, and abused.

  Yet the crowd erupted into laughter as the bidding game began, the girl looking down as her eyes trembled.

  Stella was utterly outraged by the display. Meanwhile, Marcus coldly analyzed the array of slaves being sold. Women, girls, boys, and all types of people—even a good number of well-built men as potential workers—were in chains.

  …Disgusting.

  “So this is Almarche’s slave trade,” Marcus gritted his teeth. “I see, I see. Those traders seem to be having fun conducting it too. How intriguing.”

  I wonder…did we fight for this?

  “Sir Marcus?” Stella worriedly looked up to him.

  “This makes things easy,” Marcus smiled. “I won’t have to feel bad about what will happen soon.”

  He looked at the distant manor owned by the town’s lord, as his ears picked up a few of the slave traders laughing inside their wagons about their previous sales to the count.

  Even without [Mass Surveillance], his high [Perception] stat attribute was more than enough usually.

  "The slaves we sold to the Count seemed to tickle them cultists good. Thought we were done for after they swarmed us a few months back, but now, bless my britches, we're 'bout to strike it rich instead."

  "Heh, but why do they gotta be all 'pure' and such? Even the dog-ugly ones? My boys are grumbling 'cause they can't have no fun 'fore handin' over the goods to Count Talsby."

  "I heard the loonies need 'em pure and shit for some kinda ritual. That's why they payin' more, ya see."

  "No way, I'm betting the Count and those cultists are just downright degenerates! Haha, not like it matters though, long as they keep on buying our goods!"

  “Why?” Stella’s words distracted Marcus from listening. He turned to her, noticing her fists clenched as she watched the scene in front of her. “I know people can be cruel, but…”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll deal with it,” Marcus lightly said. “Let’s go. There’s no reason for us to keep watching this.”

  “Wait, you’re already done?”

  “I have my methods.”

  “So fast…”

  Marcus nodded as they walked away from the auction. Deciding to lighten the mood a bit, he talked about food instead.

  “I’m a bit famished too, and I prefer conducting operations with a full belly.”

  Marcus grumbled about that. He’d seen a lot of good food earlier in the streets. Of course, as a proper soldier, he should focus on his main objective, but…

  If you hadn’t eaten proper food for two decades, only to see a bunch of well-seared skewers on the streets, you would definitely salivate.

  And Marcus was starving. He ran out of food before he reached the portal earlier, after all.

  “I see. Well, I did say I’ll guide you.” Stella then placed a hand on her chest as she walked faster to catch up with Marcus. “I’ll help you find a good place to eat then. I swear on my honor that your first meal will be the finest—”

  “Stop hyping yourself up and start walking faster.”

  “I, um, ah, I…”

  Stella deflated behind Marcus, her face turning red as steam rose above her.

  She’s worse than an actual rookie. She’s a literal princess.

  But Marcus had no choice. He was going to whip her up into a proper [Saint] regardless. To be honest, it was either that, or she’d die and get replaced.

  And if she were replaced, Marcus wouldn’t be able to find the next [Saint] before the church grabbed him or her.

  There was no other option.

  Unlike those morons at the Holy Church, I don’t think people are ‘replaceable’. I’ll make do with the person the goddess chose.

  …Why?

  When Marcus asked for food, he meant…food, as in, one that was cheap yet filling to the stomach. Standard food. Good, wholesome food that a soldier would need to keep fighting.

  Like gruel. Or a basic stew.

  He once again remembered the little conversation he had with Stella in the cultist base, where she told him that she was the fourth princess of a nation named ‘Sordale’.

  Largely, he mainly used that to explain her behavior earlier. And he mostly concluded that this woman was a major softie.

  It was unsurprising, because almost all [Saints] chosen by the goddess, for some reason, were the most virtuous people who walked the planet. Unfortunately, there are a lot of downsides when you only give extremely good people the potential to become a walking demigod.

  At best, you’d get some kind hero or heroine who ends up being led straight into trouble because of their desire to prioritize the innocent over themselves. At worst—you get Stella.

  She was someone who probably exhibited the first part of a usual saintly trait, in addition to being a pampered young lady. Quite unfortunate.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Yes.

  The reason for this mental rant in Marcus’s mind was that he was now sitting at a fancy restaurant after Stella dragged him there. He just spent two decades in hell. This was a bit of a whiplash.

  “I…” Marcus looked around the restaurant, where various wealthy merchants, burghers, and citizens of Almarche dined. “I don’t belong here.”

  “Sir Marcus, you should totally try out all of this!” Stella cheerily said as she began pointing at the food on the various plates on their table, explaining what each and every one of them was. “As I’ve said, you needn’t worry about anything. Now that you’re back home from a dangerous place, anything less than this is unacceptable.”

  He watched her blankly as she explained things to him, as if she were excitedly showing off the various foodstuffs in the local cuisine to hype them up. At some point, Marcus decided to just be a barbarian and ignore her, going straight to eating.

  Marcus first took a bite out of a piece of chicken. His eyes widened.

  Shit, this is actually good.

  It tasted even better because it was free. She was quite wealthy after all. Earlier, at the Death God Cult base, Stella retrieved most of her belongings and even her prized purse.

  Inside it was, of course, her ‘ID card’ and other personal documents. She used it on a local branch of the ‘Astrean Continental Bank’ to retrieve a thousand gold coins from her account.

  He still remembered the bank teller’s face turning pale upon realizing that she was a goddamn foreign princess. Luckily, the man kept things confidential. That, and again, Marcus had access to someone with royalty-tier money.

  All in all, things were looking up.

  Still, the world felt a bit strange now in Marcus’s eyes. There was this ID stuff, banks where you could deposit or withdraw gold no matter where you were, and even the Adventurer’s Guild now had a robust system to track and record their registered members.

  Four hundred years of unimpeded magical advancement, according to Stella, was the reason. And she seemed quite proud of it.

  Marcus, on the other hand, felt like his chances of being a [Mage] were slipping from his hands. He already struggled to understand magecraft back then, and when he saw earlier those runes on her ID card and the various artifacts used by the local bank, he felt like his dream was forever shattered.

  To soothe his wounded ego, Marcus began stuffing more food into his mouth. Stella seemed a bit flabbergasted at his lack of table manners at first, but then, her eyes softened as she watched him.

  “Stop watching,” Marcus warned, still chewing his food. “I get pissed off when people do that.”

  “Sir Marcus, you shouldn’t speak when eating.” She lazily waved a piece of fish meat on her fork before elegantly eating it. When she was done, she continued. “Though, it’s nice to see that you’re enjoying the food now.”

  “You just cast a silencing spell again,” Marcus frowned. “People might notice.”

  “They won’t. It’s quite a discreet spell, and everyone here has their own business to attend to.”

  “So you’re decent at magecraft?”

  “I was trained on both elemental magic and light magic, yes.”

  “Good then. Continue using that spell.”

  Marcus leaned back and wiped his face with a tissue provided by the restaurant. Stella, on the other hand, continued to eat the pastries and cake on her side of the table.

  She seemed completely at peace now. It was nice to see. Earlier, she was utterly shocked, horrified, distraught, and everything else that was a natural response to having her worldview shattered.

  Now though, it was as if she temporarily escaped into the beautiful world of food.

  She’s definitely just a youngster.

  Marcus continued speed eating.

  More than that, she’s kind and a bit naive. Innocent to the core.

  He felt his blood slowly boiling.

  And yet…and yet…

  Even in hell, Marcus was never sent alone by the Astrean Army’s command straight into the jaws of the enemy until all of them were wiped out. This [Saint], however, was sent to the Death God Cult’s base alone so callously in a blatant suicide mission during peacetime.

  That was beyond vile.

  He remembered the fate of all the [Saints] during the war between mankind and the demon lord. The Holy Church had always been quite consistent in its policy of largely using them as powerful but expendable fighters unless the [Saint] it had was truly incredible.

  And even then, because of the church’s corrupt practices, many [Saints] would sometimes refuse to cooperate with them. It was why a lot of them were killed or sent on suicide missions, especially when disagreements occurred.

  The truth was, no one wanted to cultivate incorruptible heroes handpicked by the goddess. But the church still needed [Saints] to hold the line against the demon horde, creating a bloody cycle of individuals being ordained as [Saint], sent to fight, and eventually killed.

  It never worked. It was never meant to work. It was why the Emperor took matters into his own hands and sent Marcus and the Holy Astrean Army to hell.

  It was why Marcus and his comrades suffered.

  If only someone back then had the brains to use them properly.

  He stared at Stella’s blissful face as she enjoyed her ice cream.

  Then none of what happened would have been necessary.

  He curled his fist. This was why he wanted to train her. It was to ensure that she would be able to do her duty of confronting whatever hell produced next, even once Marcus died of old age.

  That was the job of the [Saint], after all, to guard the mortal realm from the unholy forces of hell. The only reason they failed was that an incompetent entity monopolized them.

  Those ‘Envoy of Death’ things were concerning enough. They even had collaborators in the mortal realm working with them to revive the Death God. Quite frankly, it would be difficult enough to track and clean up the Death God Cult, but he also would have to deal with those ‘Envoys of Death’.

  He wouldn’t have the Imperial Army backing him anymore in any missions going forward. It was just him alone, the last man of the glorious expedition.

  He needed an ally.

  And fate just dropped one in my lap.

  I’d be stupid to let her go.

  Soon, the two finished eating their meals.

  Nightfall finally arrived on the city of Almarche.

  Stella was still quite unsure about working with Marcus, but today had been quite productive at least.

  While she had never set foot in Almarche, Stella knew so much more about the world than Marcus that she managed to help him with many things while touring the city.

  Of course, she knew that while she was showing off the sights and locations of the city, he was simply looking around for more enemies, but…

  She had been transfixed by some of Marcus’ subtle reactions to the world around him. He was a soldier, yes, but he also seemed somewhat of a lost child. Well, she was the same, but this man was truly left behind by the times.

  She found that out after noticing a silent melancholy in his eyes that he barely showed.

  She reminded herself that he was an Astrean soldier from hell. Someone who participated in the failed ‘glorious expedition’. Everyone he knew was dead, the Empire he served was dead, and the world moved on.

  And now, he was just here, like a grim reaper of the past, searching for the enemies he once had.

  Such an existence would be miserable.

  She wanted to cheer him up a bit, even if she herself felt awful, and even when under the curtains, they were really just passing time before Marcus ‘killed them all’. The only way to do that was to show him this wonderful world, one that he hadn’t walked on for ages.

  It was soon over, though.

  Standing on the rooftop of the hotel where they bought separate rooms for the night, now wearing clothes used by the Death God Cult to mask themselves in the darkness, Marcus and Stella both prepared for an incursion to the local lord’s manor—Count Richard Talsby himself.

  “I’ve explained everything to you,” Marcus said, as he fixed the mask he retrieved from the [Necromancer] he killed earlier. “You stay at the back and keep watch. Just observe. Nothing more. You can even flee if you wish.”

  “No,” Stella resolutely shook her head. “I’ll stay. I wish to see you save those slaves too.”

  I just want to know if you’re a demon or not.

  Then…then I can take your offer.

  Her heart screamed in protest again at her mind’s doubts. She knew he was not a demon. There was simply no way that her savior, no, her hero, was a demon.

  But for now, she kept it tucked away. She’ll observe and decide afterward. That was the best she could do for now.

  “...Alright,” Marcus nodded. “I hope that we can work together after this.”